


Just need one night (slightly more if it's done right)

by xumyuho



Series: we, fruitful as youth [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Consent Issues, First Time, Frottage, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, from Bros to Hoes, just for a certain scene but it's there, lmao - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6448174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xumyuho/pseuds/xumyuho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I like it like this, even without the slow-dancing and flowers.”</p><p>“Good. I’m never doing slow-dancing or flowers.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just need one night (slightly more if it's done right)

**Author's Note:**

> !! UPDATE !!   
>  Hello there!   
> A lovely soul took the time to translate this work into Vietnamese! If you wish to read this in your native tongue, feel free to check it out here: https://wp.me/p4YmDG-lG and give them much love <3

 

“If you’re going to say it, just say it, Kim Mingyu. I’m a busy man.”

Mingyu stares at a spot on the wall, where dusty white patterns on the wallpaper overlap in a whirlpool shape with the most blank and dead inside look he can muster while seated on his spot on the floor. His left eye twitches with dryness before he blinks for what feels like the first time in hours, reminding him of a lizard while at it. Wonwoo still lifts his upper lip in slight disgust.

Coming clean would feel _amazing,_ but it’ll also be the dumbest thing Mingyu can do. Wonwoo eyes him with outstanding disinterest. That seems promising enough to work as a base for this conversation.

“I think I like guys.”

Yeah. Anyway.

Mingyu’s whole neck, head, and face feels like it’ll burn off from the intensity of his nerves as Wonwoo silently studies him and waits. The silence is thick and heavy, only broken up by the ticking of the clock resting on the wall, and each of the ticks sounds like it’s slowly but surely counting down to Mingyu’s demise.  
  
“Please don’t even say anything.”  
  
“Why would you tell me if you don’t want me to talk?” Wonwoo’s mouth forms into a wicked grin. It’s knowing, and hits too close to home. Mingyu’s whole _body_ tenses into a scowl.  
  
“I’m not _gay,_ hyung.” He says it a bit louder than he was supposed to, voice reaching a panicked high pitch and he throws the comic book from his lap aside. “I used to like girls so,” he starts but his voice dies out and he needs to swallow down spit, looking around the room. “It doesn’t mean that I…”  
  
Wonwoo snorts and closes the distance between them, patting him roughly on the shoulder. “No, Mingyu-ya”—he smiles, almost like he’s sorry to be the one to break this to him—“that is _literally_ what it means.”

Mingyu stares at him, not blinking again, and it makes some weak tears dwell up to bring at least some moisture. Wonwoo’s suddenly shaky and apologetic, probably thinking Mingyu is going to cry.

“It’s okay, yeah? It’s completely fine. Your interests are different, but that’s fine, yeah? Dude, stop, _stop_ .” He wipes away a tear from Mingyu’s cheek because now he is _actually_ crying.

As the first gross and wet sob comes out of Mingyu’s mouth, Wonwoo awkwardly presses Mingyu’s head against his shoulder and pats him on the head, but more than gentle or comforting it just feels like he’s trying to kill a fly resting on Mingyu’s hair.  
  
“I had a _sex dream_ about a _guy_ , hyung,” he wails into Wonwoo’s chest and the elder just shushes him tiredly, barely understanding anything Mingyu is saying.  
  
“What’s up with Mingyu?” Minghao’s voice comes from the doorway and Mingyu just wails louder, so Wonwoo has to tell him, “Don’t even ask,” with the most pained tone he can muster.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kim Mingyu didn’t use to have sex dreams about guys, but the internet tells him that it’s okay to like one thing first and start liking another thing after that. He trusts the internet.

“This is so stupid,” he whispers to Wonwoo sitting next to him on the backseat of the van. “There are so many _terms_ here, but”—he frowns in confusion and grimaces at the text he was barely able to decipher with his English skills—“aren’t they all just _queer_ in the end?”

“Some people love to think they matter,” Wonwoo muses and leaves it at that.

They’ve arrived straight from an event, boneless and spent and wound up. Mingyu crashes into the sofa and can only take a couple of breaths before someone’s heel is prodding at his side, but he just groans and scoots over a bit to make room. A body falls beside him, smelling strongly of concealer and deodorant spray, and when Mingyu looks over, Minghao’s cheek is only a breath away from his lips. He’s lying on his back, eyes closed and breathing heavily, and Mingyu can still see sweat gathered up by the dip of his jawline.  
  
It’s hard to breathe like this, with every inhale Mingyu smells the guy next to him, sweat and makeup and perfume and the gum he had before, can let his eyes go over the texture of his skin and stare at his sharply lined eyelids, move down to his lips. He feels uncomfortable. Stuffy and cramped. Minghao moves, gets more comfortable and throws an arm over his eyes to block out the lights. His hand smacks Mingyu right in the corner of his eye and he yelps, kicking Minghao in the thigh roughly.  
  
“Mm, sorry,” Minghao drawls out, clearly not sorry at all, and Mingyu moves back slightly, huffing. Minghao’s hand is there in front of his face, his fingers are long and slim and knuckles bony, and they make Mingyu feel even more miserable, pressure gathering in his gut and suddenly he _knows_ what the feeling is and it freaks him out. He crawls over Minghao to get off of the sofa, the contact of his thigh against Mingyu’s own making him gasp, and Minghao in turn swats at him and grumbles.  
  
The nagging discomfort is replaced by a burning on his cheeks which won’t leave him alone no matter how strongly he wishes it to, so he excuses himself to the bathroom.

He sits down on the toilet and wiggles his joggers and underwear down to his thighs, sighing out a breath as he wraps his fingers around his dick, hand warm compared to the cool air of the bathroom. He’s still soft, but not completely limp, already getting hard. He takes a sharp breath through his nose and starts to work himself slowly, so it’s comfortable even with a dry palm.

Mingyu closes his eyes and out of habit tries his best to imagine a smaller slender hand with smooth skin feeling him up, wrapping around and stroking him. His small sighs fill out the silence, letting his mouth fall open and resting his head back.

There’s a pair of feet padding up and down the hall but they don’t come close to the bathroom door so he keeps on going but opens his eyes to look at the door and reaches to grab at his balls gently, hissing. Mingyu can feel his pulse more strongly in his palm as he grows redder, fatter, fits more snuggly between his fingers. He runs a clipped fingernail down the length of the underside, whining quietly. Some precum spurts out, so he can go faster.  
  
In the hallway rings chattering and footsteps, and then small, airy bursts of laughter, dumb and obnoxious and high pitched, and Mingyu’s toes curl and another whimper almost escapes him, but he stifles it by biting his lip.

Closing his eyes, the hand he imagines isn’t all that small and slender anymore, and though the fingers are long and bony as they wrap around him, they feel just as good, better even. He imagines opening his eyes a bit and seeing tufts of soft hair while the person touching him is kneeling between his legs, imagines how the breathing against the insides of his thighs would feel, hot and damp, and Mingyu keens.

He is dripping, spunk making the slide of his shaft smoother and better, and he imagines a tongue lapping at it, gathering it up, before full and impossibly pink lips wrap around the head and suck sharply, and he fists his cock so fast it makes his wrist ache. There is a knock on the door and Mingyu tries his best to shut the fuck up but it feels so _good_ it’s hard to even care.

He can’t concentrate on anything else, even when there’s a muffled “Mingyu?” sounding through the door, the voice is soft but deep and it shouldn’t make his toes curl as much as it does and he holds back another whimper. “Yeah?” Mingyu forces out, slowing his pace down but not stopping.

“The hyungs are asking if you’re not going to eat.” And Mingyu tries his best not to listen so carefully to Minghao’s voice, accent, at the weight of his speech, how he is so close and _right there_ , and suddenly Mingyu feels stirring in his gut and he knows the guy needs to leave the door _right now_ before Mingyu comes and screams while at it.

“I’m, _ah_ , not hungry.” He bites his cheek while he groans breathily. “I’m going straight to bed.” Mingyu can’t shake off the image of the person between his legs slowly turning out to be Xu Minghao, naked and lean and bony in weird places. His voice haunts his ears and makes Mingyu’s skin rise on goosebumps but his hard-on isn’t complaining at all or going anywhere.

Minghao doesn’t leave, instead lets out a slight whine which Mingyu is _so thankful_ for, for the way it makes his cock twitch and pulse and a shiver run up his back.

“ _Stop_ that,” Minghao says to someone with laughter in his voice, it’s quiet but still audible through the door, and Mingyu doesn’t bother to wonder who it is but latches onto the peals of laughter, imagining how they would feel against his skin. “I’m going, Mingyu-ya,” Minghao says before yelping again and Mingyu digs the heels of his feet into the floor to thrust up into his hand, listening to the footsteps moving away from him.

With his eyes screwed close, he can clearly see Xu Minghao on his knees between his legs, nuzzling against one of his thighs, before opening his mouth, and his lips are full and glistening with spit when they press against his cock. He’s edging down until the head is inside his mouth, and his eyes look up to lock with Mingyu’s and that’s when Mingyu comes while swallowing his needy and high pitched moans, his whole body shaking from the intensity of it while he’s left gasping.

Mingyu stares at the ceiling for a good while, trying not to think about anything at all, since once he starts thinking about what just happened, there’s no coming back from it. If he now admits to himself that he just came only from the thought of Minghao sucking his dick, then— “Fuck.” His voice is small, choked up, and he looks down at his hand that’s completely covered in jizz and at his cock, resting limp and sated in his fist. “Holy _shit_.”

Hastily he pulls up his pants and tucks himself back into them, washes his hands then his face in the sink, then stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. His face is flushed, lower lip plump and red from being bit into.

He feels weirdly unsettled, disturbed and dirty. Also embarrassed in the worst, soul consuming way, the feeling you get after accidentally calling your teacher mom or dad. But also more than slightly elated because he had never come as hard in his entire life, and he feels a bit weightless. He just knows he hates this, and stumbles out of the bathroom.  
  
After stepping out of his joggers he just crashes face first to bed, crawling under the covers. Someone opens and closes the door, stops by the nearest bunk, and there’s a clink of a belt and sound of clothing hitting the floor. Mingyu opens his eyes and sees Minghao lie down on his bed, scrolling through his phone. He has wiped away the makeup that caked his face, made his eyes look big and round and soft, blurred the imperfections and bumps of his skin, and with the only lighting coming from his phone screen, he just looks like... himself. It’s sort of annoying that it doesn’t make him unappealing.

Mingyu sees a glimmer reflecting, and his tongue feels heavy and heart pounds against his sternum because he wants to be honest and say, _‘I ended up jacking off while thinking about you and listening to your voice, and it’s kind of creepy but I guess that just happens sometimes’._ But he controls that urge and just croaks out a “Your earrings are still on.” The golden metal rings look like they might be uncomfortable to sleep with.

Minghao looks over in surprise, just a turn of his head against the pillow, and then smiles tiredly at Mingyu. It looks really nice, the really soft curve of his lips. He puts the phone down and takes the earrings off, setting them on top of a pile of books next to his bunk and looks at his phone again.

He isn’t under the covers, just lying there in his underwear and in an Adidas shirt that surely likely belonged to Jeonghan at some point of it’s life, but now had changed owners too many times to count. He barely ever uses pajama pants, and gets chewed out about it constantly. But he probably just has nothing to hide, and sweats a lot. Mingyu stares at his legs—they’re like sticks compared to his own, with weirdly thin coarse hairs covering them. But the muscles on his calves are defined, clear. His thighs are the same, slim but not skinny. Mingyu thinks he likes them, _thinks_ that he thinks that they look good, he’s not sure. But he’d like to touch them.

He quickly steals a glance at Minghao’s hips, covered by red boxer briefs, but feels scared to let his eyes linger. When he moves his eyes up, Minghao’s shirt is riding up slightly and Minghao’s stomach peeks out from under it, and it makes Mingyu’s mouth run dry for a bit, making him swallow.

Finally Mingyu moves his eyes to rest on his face, but his heart jumps up to his throat to see Minghao staring at him with a weird look. They just look at each other for a while, Mingyu losing his shit internally because he doesn’t know if Minghao just saw Mingyu checking him out—holy fuck, he was just checking him out _what the hell_.

He rolls over and turns his back on Minghao, and soon the light from his phone screen dies out and he can hear Minghao settle in between the covers.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are we honestly doing this again?” Wonwoo sighs, and allows Mingyu a suffering look, but this time only about 20 minutes in of the younger staring at him from the foot of his bed like he’s ready to admit to manslaughter or treason.

“I jacked off while thinking about Myungho,” Mingyu blurts out in a steady and even breath. Wonwoo drops his phone on his face and then shoots up to sit instead of lying on his back on the bed. He starts first with a disapproving and thoroughly stressed press of Mingyu’s name before stopping and setting his jaw.

“That’s… uhh,” Wonwoo says instead, blank. He doesn’t know what to say. That’s somewhat comforting to Mingyu.

“Do you… find Myungho attractive?” Wonwoo asks carefully, his face twisting all sorts of funny, seemingly weirded out.

“Uh, yes?” It’s a dumb question really. Wonwoo seems to get that too, coming up with a new one.

“Do you, like… _like_ him?”

 _What even is his life anymore._ Mingyu finds that hard to answer. He and Minghao have been friends, yeah, they’re all friends. Xu Minghao’s not a bad guy, though he loses his temper easily, is moody, and just won’t relax sometimes and ends up running all over the walls with restlessness.

It’s hard to ignore how relief is just emanating from Wonwoo’s expression and general essence, and it makes Mingyu whine and bang his head into the wooden foot of the bed once, twice.

“Well—but that’s good. That makes it less weird, right?” Mingyu just stares at him. “…Or then it’s just even weirder, yeah. That’s true,” Wonwoo adds with a shrug, and Mingyu just gets up and pulls on his shoes so he can go for a run and maybe scream by the train tracks until his voice is hoarse.

He dreams of Minghao again that night, waking up sweaty and gasping for breath and his underwear soaked, and ends up laundering the sheets and his boxers in the middle of the night while praying for no one to wake up.

That goes right out of the window though as Soonyoung walks in, rubbing at his hair and spotting Mingyu. He visibly relaxes a bit, as if he had been wondering if he should be worried about the ruckus. Smiling sleepily Soonyoung pats Mingyu on the shoulder as his ears turn red. “Don’t mind it, kid, it happens to the best of us,” he says before heading back to bed, while Mingyu wishes for a sinkhole to hell to open up right below his feet.

 

* * *

 

 

Recovering from a slight cold—now that he actually has time to do so—seems like a blessing when the rest of the crew goes out to eat, and he has the dorm almost to himself. It’s quiet, calm, and it’s really nice for a change really. He doesn’t feel sick at all anymore, but he doesn’t take any chances. Also he is feeling lazy, so he waits until the door closes before digging up his laptop and setting it up on a chair next to his bunk.

Mingyu browses through videos when Seungkwan wanders into the room, settling in another bunk to read. He gets comfortable, throwing a blanket over his lap and wraps another over his shoulders, and Mingyu just tries not to smile because it’s so apparent they all feel weird being alone.

Mingyu skims through articles when Minghao follows, settling next to Seungkwan to try and read over his shoulder. Seungkwan lets out an annoyed sound and attempts to swat him away, making Minghao smile and try to turn the page. Seungkwan drops the book and grabs at Minghao’s wrists while Minghao snickers, and they end up pushing at each other until they fall of the bed.

Mingyu puts on some music, and while he tries to ignore the two roughhousing on the floor, Seungkwan says something he doesn’t catch and pushes Minghao off of himself while shaking with laughter, leaves the room with a huge grin on his face and slams the door. Blinking, Mingyu just switches on some episode of a variety show. Minghao gets up from the floor as well, and it takes Mingyu exactly the time that passes while Minghao steps over and sits next to him on the bed for his brain to register that they are now in fact alone in the room.

He doesn’t know what to do, if he should do anything at all, and he hates that his head goes into overdrive as soon as Minghao is close to him and his skin won’t stop crawling.

“Where did he go?” Mingyu asks, but his voice sounds weird to his own ears. Minghao doesn’t seem to pick up on it though, just moving in closer to see what’s going on in the screen of the laptop. He places a hand to lean on between Mingyu’s knees, palm flat against the mattress and shoulder pressing slightly to Mingyu’s side.

“He’s taking a nap, told us to leave him alone,” Minghao replies, nodding his head to the theme music, and Mingyu wills himself not to stare. It doesn’t work. He is _really_ close, and he cannot look away. It’s like a train-crash, you know you shouldn’t watch but still look out for blood. So Mingyu, naturally, just keeps staring, going through everything he can in the time he has.

Minghao notices soon enough, turning his head to stare back at him weirdly, and their noses could touch if Mingyu leaned in. Minghao smiles in confusion, raising his brows and breathing out a “What?” that Mingyu can’t answer, his throat too dry. Heat pools in him, all around. “Why are you staring?” Minghao tries again, so Mingyu just shrugs.

His smile getting a bit wider but brows furrowing, Minghao pushes him in the arm. “You’re acting all sorts of weird, Mingyu-ya, it’s freaking me out.” And Mingyu knows. But he just wants this all to stop, to die out, to just disappear.

It could be like ripping off a bandaid. It could work like that. Thus, with holding that thought in mind, he grabs Xu Minghao by the face and presses their lips together.

It lasts longer than he had thought it would. Minghao doesn’t move for a second, frozen in place. It’s like his brain got turned off by a button on his lips and now he is just sitting there in dormancy.  But then he jumps to action and lets out a stifled sound, struggling to shove at Mingyu.

Mingyu pulls back, and Minghao hits him on the side of his head, violent enough to probably hurt for days. Minghao pushes at his chest, face lit up by something that reminds of anger, and Mingyu pushes him right back, which results in both of them shoving at each other until Minghao grabs at Mingyu’s wrists to stop him and Mingyu twists his other arm to wrap it around Minghao’s neck and grab Minghao’s other shoulder to hold him in place while Minghao grunts and struggles.

Mingyu all but wails when Minghao starts twisting himself around so he can get out of Mingyu’s hold and grab him instead and Mingyu’s arm gets twisted up in a weird way, so he lets go. Minghao takes his chance to push Mingyu down and try sink his fingertips painfully into his sides, and when Mingyu puts up a fight they become a wild tangle of limbs on the bed, hitting and grabbing and swearing.

Finally when they settle down, Mingyu’s mind catches up to him only to tell him he’s pressing against Minghao’s thigh from the way Mingyu’s leg wraps around him to hold him down. Minghao doesn’t seem to notice at first, but the way Mingyu stares at him in a mixture of panic and misery gets to him and he looks down and back up again. Minghao snorts weakly, nervously, in a way Mingyu just cannot read, and looks away but doesn’t go.

He doesn’t even try to get up from under him. It’s fucking Mingyu up.

Mingyu brings his leg back from where it was tangled between Minghao’s, but the motion makes it so he rubs against Minghao’s thigh, and when he moves it to get comfortable and put it back, it happens again, making Mingyu gasp. He is half on top of Minghao, holding him down by the other shoulder, but Minghao isn’t pushing him away, instead just staring like he doesn’t dare to breathe.

Mingyu meets Minghao’s eyes through fluttering lashes, his whole face heating up and hands getting sweaty, and the friction is still there, so is Xu Minghao, right under him, and just the thought makes him whine softly. Minghao’s face turns red and he turns his head to the side and looks away quickly, mouth parted slightly as his breathing is becoming more and more heavy. It really should alarm Mingyu more how terrified he seems, lying there with his arms unmoving like they’re surgically attached to his sides.

He lifts up his hand from Minghao’s shoulder, instead placing it flat next to his head on the mattress, caging him in but not holding him down anymore. Mingyu holds his breath as he moves his hips slightly, the friction sweet and needed when he semi-grinds along Minghao’s thigh with ease, and murmuring Minghao’s name deep in his throat. Minghao’s breath hitches and he looks back up at Mingyu’s face, eyes _roaming_ Mingyu’s features, and swallowing dry before biting his lip slightly.

When Mingyu moves his knee up, it gets pressed flush against Minghao’s groin and he groans, a breathy sound that echoes in the room, and it makes Mingyu see white for a moment before he does it again. Minghao grabs into the arm propped next to his hand, just squeezing it in his hold while slightly bringing his hips up to push them against Mingyu’s knee, and Mingyu keeps grinding against Minghao’s thigh slowly, all the while not breaking eye contact.

It’s all so intimate, too intimate, his face feels like it could melt off any time now and soak into the sheets. He feels open and all for Minghao to see like this, hovering over him. But it’s hard to look away to gather up his composure when Minghao’s brows are knitting together and his mouth is moving soundlessly like he feels _really good_ , and he grabs at Mingyu’s arm like it’s his lifeline. Minghao’s eyes have this intense far-away look that makes Mingyu’s gut twist and churn and cock twitch inside his underwear, and all tension in the room breaks just for a moment when Minghao whimpers out something that vaguely sounds like Mingyu’s name but _hotter_ than Mingyu’s name has ever sounded before.

With that, everything breaks. Mingyu groans and ducks down to maybe kiss him, but it’s just one open mouth pressing against another, unmoving, just gasping and moaning against each other’s teeth. Minghao is hard against his knee and bucking up, and Mingyu just about so where his cock is rubbing to his thigh, and he speeds up just because he wants to come _so bad_ while he can still get away with this, and Minghao picks up on that and does the same. The bed creaks and cries under them inconsolably.

Minghao breaks out to miserable weak whimpers, his hips stuttering, and Mingyu feels it too, a knot twisting low in his core and his dick already leaking. It’s sort of embarrassing how they are both already _there,_ but it’s not like either of them have ever done this before.

Mingyu thinks it must feel gross to have him panting right into Minghao’s mouth but he doesn’t seem to mind, now just letting out choked and hasty whispers in a foreign language _—_ and Mingyu hadn’t thought about it but the guy probably doesn’t know how to say _those_ kind of things in Korean—and Mingyu just answers with a low moan. He gets the gist of it.

When he comes, it’s sudden, like he can’t fathom what different sensations in his body mean anymore, but his pace just becomes messy and hasty and then comes to a halt, a grunt rumbling through his chest and then rolling from his lips in a high-pitched whimper while he comes in his pants. Just the sight of him seems to do the trick for Minghao as he brings his arm up to cover his face and bites his lip to stifle any noises, his hips stuttering and then stopping completely. A violent tremor goes through his whole body, and he is just left there, panting and trying to catch his breath under Mingyu.

Mingyu removes himself, lying next to him on the bed with a grimace when he feels his underwear sticking to his skin. He sneaks a look at Minghao just when he’s lowering the arm off of his face, and he looks miserable. He’s a _wreck_ , face torn in confusion and fear but also at the same time he looks satisfied and grossed out about the mess they have made.

He draws in a few deep, calming breaths before turning his head to face Mingyu, and he may be a wreck but he looks _really_ good while at it. Mingyu thinks he could call it handsome, or beautiful, or attractive. Mostly just hot. Mostly because he just got to come on top of Xu Minghao and his mind is filled with a thousand different thoughts, most of them variations of _oh my god_ and _hell yes_ and _what did you just do._

“I’m,” Minghao starts, then his voice dies out and he looks guilty. “I’m sorry, I’m—I swear I—” Minghao sounds just about like he’s choking on tears, and Mingyu knows what he means so he hurries to blurt out, “It’s okay.” Minghao turns to stare at the top bunk above them, still miserable.

“It’s not weird,” Mingyu says, only because he can’t know for sure if it is in fact super weird or not, thus he is apparently convincing. At least Minghao looks at him again, surprised and taken aback. But not like he wants to die anymore. It’s like a storm calming in him. It warms Mingyu up inside out. “It’s fine.”

Minghao nods, slowly, but he doesn’t look like he is still too sure if any of this is as normal as Mingyu is trying to feign it to be. They stay there in a relatively easy silence for a while, until they both decide having their boxers filled with cooling spunk is a little too gross to handle.  
  
“I’m going to change,” Minghao says. Mingyu nods, and doesn’t say anything when Minghao gets up to grab clean underwear and pants and goes to the bathroom instead of changing where Mingyu can see him. Instead he just sighs, every limb shaking with nerves and underlying panic that’s still caged, not spiraling out of control for maybe another minute of two.

When Seungkwan wakes up he wanders to the living room with his hair tousled and face puffy from sleep, and finds Mingyu and Minghao playing games on Wonwoo’s Nintendo DS. They’re settled on the sofa, small space between them that feels like a air pocket that lets them breathe. But their feet are touching, skin of Minghao’s ankle meeting the skin of Mingyu’s shin. They have been enveloped in a silence for a long time, only broken a few time by shouts of victory or taunting laughter. Neither will look the other in the eye, but for now they can deal with it.

Seungkwan jams himself into the spot between them, Minghao moving aside to make him room, and Seungkwan makes himself comfortable. “Aren’t they back yet?” Seungkwan asks with a yawn, and his eyes are slipping shut like he’s going to drift right off again. Minghao pinches his arm to prevent that, and shakes his head as a no.

“Ah dicks,” Mingyu lets out as the screen spells out a bright ‘game over’ and Minghao nabs the console from his hands with a grin. Seungkwan scoffs and side-eyes him. “Language, hyung,” he says tiredly, leaning against Minghao’s shoulder and propping his chin onto it to stare at the DS. “Use it properly.

“Life, Boo. Get one,” Mingyu counters with a sneer, but Seungkwan ignores him.

Another silence settles around them, but it lasts only until Minghao lets out a noise of frustration and Mingyu snorts, reaching for the DS for it’s his turn now. Minghao doesn’t give it up though, bringing it closer to himself. “I want to try again,” he says. Mingyu frowns.

“That’s not how it fucking works, dude, give it up.” Mingyu reaches over Seungkwan who whines in distaste, trying to shove him off. Minghao just leans away, so Mingyu determinedly clambers over Seungkwan to attack him, grabbing at his arms while Minghao shouts out a series of insults between wild spurts of laughter. Mingyu’s knee digs into Seungkwan’s thigh, making him wail and kick the guy away. Mingyu falls from the sofa and takes Minghao down with him, both hitting the floor with a painful thud and obnoxious laughing.

The console is left alone on the sofa where Minghao dropped it, thus Seungkwan takes it and starts a new game while the other two keep roughhousing on the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

“You had girlfriends before, right?” Mingyu’s voice is just a whisper, so no one can hear them. He can’t see Minghao in the darkness of their bedroom, not all the way from his own bed.

Minghao takes his phone, and it illuminates his face, shines enough light to make Mingyu visible, too. He seems unsure. “Yeah.”

“And you kissed them, right?”

Minghao nods. “I did.”

Worrying his lip, Mingyu nods, too, and after a heavy pause says, “Me, too.”

Minghao rubs the corner of his eye while staring off into the floor. The high of his cheek ends up red and irritated after he removes his knuckles from it, moving on to worry the side of his nose instead. He touches his face whenever he’s thinking, and Mingyu thinks it’s disgusting. It’s not good for his skin that’s bumpy already. “You still think this isn’t weird?”

Mingyu has to think on that a bit. He ends up shrugging with a lazy smile, and that seems to be enough for Minghao who smiles a bit too and stops pawing his face. “Yeah,” he still says, to be clear. Minghao turns off his phone.

With that they sleep.  And they wake up in the morning just to fight over the last serving of cereal harshly enough that the hyungs have to step in between them and ask if they need to work it out with someone. It’s like nothing happened, really.

Except it’s not. They are told to share the cereal and they both suddenly want to eat something else instead, because sharing would feel weird.

They are both distracted, at all times, every day for the next week, and it’s bothersome. Mostly because Mingyu still hasn’t grown any sort of tolerance for Minghao’s gaze burning small holes into his skin, and it’s always destroying his appetite at the dinner table. He tries his best to look elsewhere while he’s eating, but he can still _feel_ it. Some kind of destructive force of nature is messing with his mind and starving him to death.

Food is personal, and Mingyu might waste away and die soon.

He finds Minghao settled in front of a computer in one of the cramped rooms in the company building, and the corner of his eye twitches because he is downright pissed.

“You need to remove your eyes from my face. Like, right now, look elsewhere. I hate it when you stare, and you star _e all the time_ , and it’s creeping me out,” he says hastily, and Minghao _does it again_. His eyes are glued to Mingyu’s face, lips, which angers Mingyu further.  “Someone is going to figure out something’s going on, dude, stop being a fucking tool,” he hisses.

“Could we do it again?” Minghao answers and looks like he just completely decided to ignore anything Mingyu said, removing his headphones and setting them down on the desk. Mingyu blinks dumbly, then closes the door behind him.

They hit the lights, so only sunlight bleeds into the room through the small windows by the ceiling. Mingyu sits on the floor, back against the door, and Minghao sits in front of him, and they are both shaking and trembling a bit, hands sweating and picking at their own clothes, and eyes glued to stare at each other, to gather hints, anything. But their nerves don’t get the best of them. All the encouragement they need, they get from their identical dumb, excited smiles.

Minghao looks on silently and then gets seated on Mingyu’s thighs, safely far enough and away from Mingyu’s crotch, which he is honestly thankful for. Minghao’s weight is solid against him, warm and firm above his legs and under his hands as he rests them on Minghao’s thighs, muscle toned and solid as well under his palms.

This time it’s Minghao pressing their lips together, and though it’s first just a tightly shut mouth against another, it throws Mingyu into an overdrive much wilder than the first time they kissed _._ Drawing in a shaky breath Mingyu pulls away, then sets his lips so he can kiss Minghao’s upper lip slowly, carefully, and Minghao starts to get it, to move his lips, too. Slowly, carefully.

Honestly, he never thought spit had a taste, but Minghao’s does. It mingles with his own, just an undertone of a flavor that feels odd and foreign on his tongue but doesn’t remind him of a certain food or a drink. It’s probably just what _Minghao_ tastes like, which makes him suddenly conscious of his own taste. Mingyu doesn’t dare to ask about it though.

They keep doing that, now and then stopping to breathe and cool off the persistent heat from their faces, and kissing again. Probably for hours, probably for years. By the end of it, his phone rings and chirps and Minghao falls back, a string of spit caught on his painfully red and sore looking mouth, and Mingyu can barely feel his lips when he picks up. 

“Cheol-hyung wants us back home,” he breathes out and darts his eyes up to meet Minghao’s. He nods, but keeps looking at Mingyu’s mouth and licks his lips like he’s hungry.

Mingyu yanks him over and melts their mouths together again, tongue lapping at Minghao’s lower lip to make the guy groan, and it takes two more calls from Seungcheol to finally get them scramble apart and sprint out of the room to get to the dorms, panting and full of regret as they get scolded instantly.

Being late to dinner, they get lukewarm food and laundry duty. Minghao gives him a nasty look, like it’s his fault, and that gets anger boiling up Mingyu’s throat and they start kicking each other under the table until Mingyu’s knee hits it and Chan’s glass falls over and they are banished from the dining area. They keep aiming kicks and jabs and nearly fall over in the hallway, lean on each other, hands steady against whatever they can reach.

Everyone heads to sleep, but the two of them are still stuck on taking out soaked laundry, putting them up to dry, returning to the machine to shove in some more clothing. Mingyu’s hands smell like a thousand different chemicals even after he rinsed them thoroughly with water, and Minghao’s fingertips are gaining wrinkles and losing colour.

“You look like a housewife,” Mingyu snorts and points at his hands, and Minghao just scrunches up his nose and scoffs.

“You smell like one. Or a chemist,” he counters and adds the last underwear into the machine before closing the hatch.

Mingyu’s fingers entangle on the front of Minghao’s jumper, grabbing, staying there, and Minghao’s eyes fly to glare at it, then at Mingyu who’s reaching to close the bathroom door and lock it. Catching him swallowing down heavily, Mingyu looks at how Minghao’s throat moves, at the skin of his neck and cheeks gathering colour, gaining a new warmer shade.

“Again?” Minghao’s voice is shaky and only so disapproving. Mingyu answers him with a lopsided smile, forcing out a frustrated whine from him.

By the end of the next minute, Minghao has his back against the wall and he just goes _boneless_ , falling on his ass to the floor so Mingyu climbs onto his lap and gives him a hasty kiss.  

There’s so much _drool_ when they won’t pull away at certain intervals, and when there’s no drool there’s teeth, mostly Mingyu’s canines brushing against Minghao’s lower front teeth and biting into his lips, and though it’s clumsy and horrible it’s _better._ It keeps getting better.

Minghao keeps breathing out a laugh every time there’s a loud wet smack between a kiss, and it makes Mingyu smile, too, but press their smiles together. Minghao won’t stop palming at his shirt, digging his bony fingers into the fabric of it, teasing it like it’s a nuisance.

Mingyu can’t help wondering if Minghao wants to see him naked, because he sure as _hell_ wants to see Minghao naked, and just the thought makes him groan and twitch inside his briefs.

Their groins are flush against each other and Mingyu considers moving away, if only slightly, but Minghao’s hips jerk up just so before Mingyu can even think about backing out. His breath hitches against Minghao’s lips, and then there’s a hand slipping under the hem of his shirt, Minghao’s ridiculously huge palm just resting against his stomach. The weight of it makes the muscles underneath quiver, and Minghao pulls away to stare down at it, with his tongue peeking out from between his lips.

Building up a chunk of bravado from the specks of his confidence, Mingyu swallows thickly and quickly slips his hand up Minghao’s jumper, letting his fingernails run across the skin and muscle as he goes up further. The guy under him shivers like mad, flinching and twisting because he’s ticklish as hell. Mingyu knows what he himself likes, what feels good, so once he passes the bumps of Minghao’s ribcage Mingyu thumbs his left nipple with easy ownership.

It pulls out a low whine from Minghao and makes his eyes flutter shut, but the reaction isn’t as big as Mingyu had expected. He knows better than to be disappointed though—apparently he’s just more sensitive than Minghao is. Minghao mirrors what Mingyu just did, making him flinch and let out a strangled cry, something hot and good just shooting through his veins and lingering on the skin of his chest.

Minghao loves it, his face blank and caught surprised but fucking _elated_ as he keeps doing it again and again, making Mingyu squirm on top of him and let out the air filling his lungs in small violent bursts. He has to reposition his knees and sit heavier on Minghao’s lap, making them grind.

His mouth falls open to stare in awe as Minghao drops his hand from Mingyu’s chest to palm himself through his pants, hissing and choking from the well-needed pressure and friction. “Do you—” he starts, and Minghao looks up quickly, as if startled. “Do you want to touch it?” Mingyu’s voice sounds thick and foreign, dark.  “Touch yourself?”

It takes a minute, but Minghao nods firmly. Mingyu lets him shove at his pants, get them down just carefully enough. With a shaky hand, Minghao pulls himself out of his boxers, gasping and whining as he tightens a fist around his cock.

Mingyu knows not all dicks look alike, but _oh my god_. It catches him by surprise to suddenly see another guy’s penis so close up. It’s fucking intense. At the same time the inner skin of his cheeks starts to water and his throat is completely dry.

“Min— _gyu, please_ — _”_ Minghao drawls, eyes hazy and slipping shut and face an awful, ugly shade of red, and Mingyu kisses his cheeks hungrily, then the corner of his eye, before landing a sloppy peck to his lips which Minghao receives gladly, drowning out his moans into Mingyu’s mouth while stroking himself.

Mingyu scrambles to open his own fly with fumbly hands and almost gets the skin of his forefinger stuck in the zipper. Minghao’s voice sounds awkward and _wrong_ like this, but it’s also incredibly arousing. When he finally wraps a hand around himself, Mingyu whimpers loudly and presses their foreheads together. He barely registers Minghao blatantly staring down at his dick with his eyes narrowed in concentration like he’s studying it, but when he does he feels like _dying_.

“Don’t look at it,” Mingyu demands breathily, but it’s weak and a sad excuse for an order. Minghao’s lips are pursed into a weird line as he keeps looking at Mingyu’s cock, the way it’s gathering colour and leaking.

Mingyu hits his shoulder and barks another, “Stop _staring_ , creep,” which shifts to a long shaky moan when a hand slips its fingers under Mingyu’s own, starts an agonizing, long and careful stroke to the base. Minghao’s fingers are calloused, warm and bony, so different from Mingyu’s own, and he almost comes just from that sensation alone.

He’s so embarrassed his whole face feels like it’s puffy and hot, like after crying. His eyes water a bit, too. Mingyu also can’t _shut up,_ his breathing coming up as whimpers and cries and groans as Minghao moves his fingers along the length of him and jerking himself off at the same time.

“Is that good?” Minghao asks with a raspy, shaky voice that is probably going to visit Mingyu’s wet dreams until the end of time. “Mingyu, you’re—” it sounds like a compliment, but gets interrupted by the content grunt that rumbles inside Minghao’s chest.

Mingyu sweeps Minghao’s lips with his tongue, making him stiffen, before he sneaks it between them, far enough to lick at Minghao’s teeth. Then further than that, so it meets Minghao’s own tongue, making them both jerk in surprise. It’s weird, and new, but Mingyu wants to try it and Minghao just takes it.

He ends up extending his tongue in as far as he can, so Minghao has to shut his eyes tightly like he’s absolutely terrified and slacken his jaw to open his mouth wide. All muscles in Mingyu’s body just tremble in excitement when the tip of his tongue grazes the roof of Minghao’s mouth, getting him to moan louder than Mingyu has ever heard before, and as Minghao squeezes his cock inside his palm he comes with a stifled shout all over Minghao’s fingers and jumper, and it’s just a sad chain reaction that ends with Minghao spilling, too, fucking into his own fist and biting Mingyu’s lip until Mingyu yelps in distress.

While he rubs his aching lip with a sour glare, Minghao just stares down at the mess between them, scandalized and filled with half-baked regret, the kind he knows he is feeling and should let take over him, but he’s too slack and sated to really care. “Dude. It’s Seokminnie’s shirt.” He sounds like he might cry.

Mingyu swallows down spit and wipes his mouth, then brushes some hair away from Minghao’s face. “Let’s launder it, too.”

Minghao frowns and blinks furiously, more mad than sad now. Scared, maybe. MIngyu grabs his cheeks then, forces his face up so they are leveled and Mingyu can stare him down.

“It’s okay even if he knows. It’s none of his business anyway.”

Frowning, Minghao tries to push Mingyu’s hands away that are bunching his cheeks up uncomfortably. “It’s not that easy, Mingyu-ya.”

Mingyu shakes his head furiously, dropping his tone a bit. “It is, though. We can be really uncomfortable about this, right? Or then we can be comfortable about it. Even if it’s just…” He licks his lips and sighs sharply. “Accepting it.” He rubs his thumbs on the warm thin skin of Minghao’s brows while he tries to look away, anywhere but Mingyu. His cheeks are heating up under Mingyu’s hands. “That we like doing this. That we like doing it together. I like kissing you, and you liked giving me a handjob, and I just like _you_ a lot more than I used to.”

Minghao laughs awkwardly. “Are you saying you didn’t like me before?”

“Not as much as I like you now,” Mingyu says with a shrug. “You’re also a lot more pretty these days. Did you get something done?” Minghao shoves him off and Mingyu grins, backs away all the way so he’s seated against the opposite wall.

“I don’t like being called pretty. Guys aren’t pretty,” Minghao finally says, tucking himself into his pants and peeling the jumper off of himself, before throwing it into the basket and sitting back against the wall.

Mingyu scoffs and bats his lashes. ”Speak for yourself.”

Minghao shrugs and looks elsewhere, then covers up his bare chest a bit. “Are you being so nice because you think you’re still getting some?”

“No, I’m just a kind person. Also loyal and caring and protective of the ones close to me. Like a rottweiler.” Minghao smiles a bit.

“Then take yours off, too, Rex, it’s not fair that I’m the only one with my boobs out.”

Mingyu spits out a joyless _woof,_ and fights off his shirt, throwing it to the laundry basket, too. Minghao giggles like he’s thrilled and coos a “Good boy.” That makes Mingyu’s stomach quiver.

“I thought you’d be more ecstatic to see me naked,” Mingyu bemoans with a pout, scratching his side lazily, and Minghao just shrugs.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You’re still just as weird-looking. Your head is huge compared to your shoulders, have you noticed? Will the rest of your body ever grow into it?”

Mingyu feels his shoulders and frowns in distress.

“You’re a hateful, mean, and bitchy guy, Seo Myungho. Stop smacking shit about my shoulders. They’re great shoulders. You’d _kill_ to have my shoulders.”

Minghao barely has time to mumble, “ _Yeah, myself maybe_ ,” before Mingyu throws several bottles of shampoo at him with all the strength of his bottled up rage and ends up bruising Minghao’s arm and stomach.

“That came from a _dark_ place, man.” Minghao’s face is stifling a huge shit-eating grin, and his voice is spiked by amusement. “You should discuss it with a professional.”

“I changed my mind. I don’t like you, I never liked you.”

“You’re a shit liar. And, okay, you have nice shoulders for a rottweiler.” Minghao turns up all the shampoo bottles so they won’t leak on the floor. “WIll you forgive me if I scratch your belly?”

“I would scratch yours if it wasn’t so hairy,” Mingyu spits out and glares at Minghao’s happy trail, and Minghao sucks in his stomach and curls into himself with an offended face.

“What’s wrong with that, guys are supposed to have hair! You have it, too,” he argues while Mingyu pouts in feigned disgust.

“Ah, Myungho-ya is going to end up as one of those bulky fat men with hair everywhere. _Gross_.”

“And you’re going to be like a polished buddha statue, removing hair until you shine like soap? _Charming_.”

They run their mouths and laugh loud and snotty for what feels like the longest time until Minghao walks over and falls down next to Mingyu, and they compare their bodies, put their arms against each other, see where Mingyu’s bicep dips and where Minghao’s elbow juts out, how they’re different, and how they are the same, not for any special reason, just because they can.

They study the shade of their skin, the moles, and little scars gained as boys, and map them out with careful fingertips.

Minghao has a lot more on his body than Mingyu does, from wushu, from dancing, from running around in the streets and playing games, from peer pressure and dares and double dares. Mingyu has many more on his hands, from crafts, cooking, building, and fixing things, dog bites and scratches from stray cats. Minghao’s hands are bigger, Mingyu’s fingers are thicker. He has visible veins on his arm, Minghao doesn’t have as many.

They fall asleep on the bathroom floor, and wake up when someone is banging furiously on the door. They pull on random shirts and shove some more laundry, including the semen-stained jumper, into the machine before stumbling out. It’s like four-am, and Chan badly needs to piss, giving them both nasty looks before slamming the door behind him.

“Sorry, Channie, we fell asleep,” MInghao coos through the door, to which Chan answers with a tired and angry “Hyung, don’t talk to me when I’m peeing!”

Mingyu, heavy and stuffy with sleep, lands a kiss to the side of Minghao’s mouth and heads to bed, leaving him to try and convince Chan that they are truly sorry and will never lock the door again.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Mingyu corners Minghao in a bathroom he blurts out a hasty “I think I have feelings for you,” and Minghao just gives him a blank look before pushing Mingyu around and sinking to his knees in one of the cramped stalls.  
  
“This is weird, this is so weird, _please, dude,_ just get up,” Mingyu all but begs Minghao who’s on his knees in front of him, working open his pants, and Mingyu just knows what he’s going to do and his heart is crawling up, up, and up so it can rest on his tongue, and he could spit it out on the tiled floors.

Minghao doesn’t waste anything but a low _shh_ at him, smiling with sparking confidence of which probably 90% is fake, feigned, and by the way his fingers shake it’s easy to see he has no clue what he’s doing. He has never had a dick in his mouth before but he’s hellbent on trying it out. Mingyu is fucking terrified.

“Shut up, I know what I’m doing.” _He so doesn’t._ “I saw this in a video.” He pulls down Mingyu’s pants and underwear, making him yelp in distress.

“What kind of _videos_ do you even _watch,_ Seo Myungho?” Minghao smiles again, arrogant enough to make Mingyu melt on the inside, and then faces Mingyu’s erection head on.

“The kinds you would like.” Then Xu Minghao takes his cock into his mouth, gagging when he has barely half of its length in his mouth, eyes wide like he’s besotted. He pulls back quickly, as if measuring the taste, meditating on it, and presses his lips together, rubs them together, fits them over his teeth better. When the ring of his mouth squeezes Mingyu’s dick again, it’s like his field of vision starts scribbling at the edges. Minghao’s tongue is hot and persistent against him, the heat of his mouth jus _t too much_ , and Mingyu can barely realize he’s mid-orgasm before he’s whimpering and bucking up and coming down Minghao’s throat and making him choke.

The intensity of his orgasm has him shaking and his eyes water when he still can feel the ghost of Minghao’s mouth pulsing around him, and his knees buckle and make him fall to the floor. Minghao keeps coughing and sniffling and sounds like he’s _dying_ , there’s water coming out of his eyes, too, and Mingyu pats his back half-heartedly.

Even after the fortieth apology Minghao is still coughing and tears are coming out of his eyes and destroying his makeup and he needs to go to the sink, and Mingyu feels like he’s going to relive this memory every time someone’s mouth comes in contact with his genitalia.

It’s like PTSD for his dick. He feels such intense guilt that he will still be losing erections in his mid-forties, even if this memory was one of the hottest ones he has.

When Minghao comes back from the sink, he has a mint in his mouth and his eyes are red. “Are you okay?” Mingyu asks with a shaky voice, running his hand down Minghao’s arm as he joins him on the floor.

“You know when you accidentally laugh while drinking milk? And it goes up to your nose?”

“…Yeah?”

“That happened.” Just the idea makes Mingyu’s eyes water and gag reflex go crazy and he mumbles, _“I’m so sorry,_ ” into Minghao’s hair again and again until he huffs and tells him to stop.

“I… You know, I still liked it, though.”

Mingyu stares at him. “You’re an absolute freak,” he drawls before catching the guy in another embrace.

 

* * *

 

 

The salt and grease feel amazing on Mingyu’s tongue as he bites into crisp and hot fries, focusing on them as his hyungs debate on a greatly pressing subject they apparently need to get out of their system—mostly because he doesn’t really care as much about the topic as he would have once before, and he’s tight on money, so he needs to savour the taste.

Seungcheol is asking Jisoo about girls and if he’s ‘one of those Christians’ that don’t have sex before marriage, and Mingyu can barely hide his eyerolls behind pretend yawns. Minghao snickers at him before he’s pulled back to reality as he’s asked the same question about girls, marriage, Christianity.

“I guess. If she’s nice enough,” Minghao mumbles with a shrug and chews on the straw of the Fanta resting in front of him, and Mingyu’s stomach sinks to the floor and keeps on going through the floor until it reaches hell. Hell exists, this is it.

“Ah, our Myungho is no slut,” Soonyoung coos and wraps his arm around Minghao’s shoulder and grabs him for a hug, to which Minghao answers with a grossed out face and a miserable whine. “Acts only with feelings involved.”

The topic keeps on going, though gladly it doesn’t involve Minghao or him anymore. After that it’s mostly Seungcheol and Jihoon fighting about their tastes, Jihoon calling Seungcheol dull and old-fashioned and Seungcheol getting pissed.

“Than what’s it got to be for you, Busan man?” Seungcheol says with a snarl.

Jihoon stares at him blankly before raising his hands up to make breasts on his chest with his palms. “Busty,” he says, and Jisoo chokes on his drink with laughter.

Jeonghan grins in agreement and together with Jihoon they share a high-five. Mingyu and Minghao share a long, suffering look.

Mingyu’s already done with his food when he’s asked about girls, too. His head goes empty and his eyes fly to sneak a glance at Minghao, who’s licking salt off of his fingers. “Tall noonas,” he gets out. The tips of his ears prickle with warmth when he looks on at the shade of Minghao’s skin. “Tanned. Easy to be with?” And he can see Minghao smile slightly from the corner of his eye.

They head out to have coffee after that (“Coffee date, just the two of us,” Minghao had said with a big dumb smile) and just walk around with their paper cups until Minghao leans against a rail and looks down from the overpass at the road below them, almost completely hidden by tall trees growing towards them, arching over the cars.

“Mingyu.” Minghao turns to look at him eventually, his snapback creating shadows over his eyes so he looks old and solemn enough to make Mingyu smile. “…Is it dumb to feel so shit about it? The girl talk?” Mingyu shakes his head and takes a sip from Minghao’s drink. It’s bitter enough to sting his tongue, completely without sugar, but that’s how Minghao likes it. His tastes are weird, with food and drinks and music, too. That’s why Mingyu has to pretend he likes them all.

Mingyu shrugs and lets his hand rest on Minghao’s hand when he hands the drink back. Minghao doesn’t swat it away, which is nice enough of him. “Don’t think about it too much.” He catches Minghao’s eyes, ignoring the embarrassment he feels. “Just… trust that things will work out.”

Minghao smiles, quiet and mellow, and spots a stray cat on the other side of the overpass. Mingyu perks up and takes a few steps, then crouches down and extends his hands and rubs his forefinger and thumb together to get the cat’s attention.

“I mostly just wish I didn’t have to listen to it with everything else going on, you know?” Mingyu says in a low whisper, as the fat calico starts a lazy stride towards them. The cat gets close enough to smell Mingyu’s fingers, then rubs its cheek against them with teeth showing, like it’s going to bite. Mingyu darts his tongue out and carefully opens his palm to reach around one ear to scratch behind it.

“Like… you know how you’re just exhausted, and you feel like…” Mingyu begins. The cat falls lazily to its side on the concrete road and Mingyu sinks his fingers into the thick orange fur of its side, and Minghao smiles and gets down to pet the loaf of fur and fat, too. “…Like you can’t be around normal people. You feel like you might infect them with your inner feelings, like it’s contagious. Like suddenly the happy, normal people will feel the things you do, and it’s all your fault.”

Minghao rubs the cat’s chin, and just lifts his gaze up to eye Mingyu carefully. “What do you feel?” he asks.

Mingyu shrugs, moving his hand down to rub the cat’s fat tummy. “Like no matter what I do, there’s always someone out there better than me, proving me meaningless.” Big golden eyes shoot open and the cat bites Mingyu’s thumb, lightly enough not to draw blood but hard enough to make Mingyu pull his hand away. The fat calico gets up and runs away into the hydrangea bushes.

They both quiet down and finish their drinks, Minghao looking like he’s absolutely suffering and Mingyu just suffering to see him suffer. Once they leave, Mingyu throws his cup to the trash for him like the absolute gentleman he is, and licks his lips. “Do you wanna meet up at the company later?”

Minghao is quiet for a while, and looks tired when he finally speaks. “I don’t feel like it today.”

Mingyu can’t say he’s not disappointed but likes the honesty. He nods and smiles, small and weak and all sorts of ambiguous. “Let’s just go home?”

Everything is heavy and horrible. Minghao puts in earphones and stares at the concrete. Mingyu doesn’t like it, he hates it. He can only take 34 steps before his skin spikes with impulses he can’t shake off.

“What do you like about me?” Mingyu asks him while pulling away his left earphone. Minghao is caught by surprise but almost blurts out an answer like he’s been practicing, and Mingyu doesn’t know what to think about that. So he doesn’t. Much.

Minghao purses lips and lets them turn into a soft smile. “I like the way you talk.”

Mingyu’s eyebrows knit together in question. “Why? There are, like, a _hundred_ better things about me, dude,” he demands and points at his face and does a perky bright smile. Minghao shoves at his shoulder and laughs.

“It sounds like a dog barking.”

Mingyu wiggles his brows and grins obnoxiously wide. “Because I’m cute like a puppy?”

“No, because you’re fucking _relentless_ , Rex. Rocco. Rocky.”

Mingyu scoffs, and scowls and tries to hit off his snapback for it, but Minghao bolts into a clumsy run to get away, peels of bubbly laughter erupting from his mouth.

Later they’re watching a show from a laptop, and Minghao leans to whisper into Mingyu’s ear, “What do you like about me?” And Mingyu could say so many things it embarrases him. He could make a list, he could be sweet about it. So of course he doesn’t.

“I never said I like anything about you. Actually, I already told you I don’t like you anymore. Go away.”

Minghao huffs and leans away, leaving Mingyu alone to deal with the clot forming deep in his gut that feels like a group of snakes eating away at him, and the image alone is gross enough he needs to breathe in deep four times to ignore it.

“I like your laugh,” Mingyu whispers into Minghao’s ear. “It’s _stupid_ and makes you sound _dumb_ , but it’s nice.”

Minghao seems so pleased with himself, and Mingyu can’t help but to moan over how weak he has ended up being.

 

* * *

 

 

This time when he busts his way into Wonwoo’s room, he wastes no time sitting down and spitting the words out like they’re burning through his tongue.

“Myungho gave me a handjob and treats me like a dog sometimes, like an actual dog, a rottweiler, and I think I’m falling in love with him.”

Wonwoo stares at him and then glances to the other side of the room where Soonyoung is sitting and looking mildly disgusted. Mingyu’s face grows hot, but then Soonyoung throws up his hands before burying them into his pockets and just leaves with a shrug. “I’ll forget about this.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Mingyu yells after him weakly, while Wonwoo just whines and pushes a pillow onto his face so he can suffocate and maybe find peace beyond this realm where Kim Mingyu’s year of sexual revelation can’t hurt him anymore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Mingyu finds dancers sexy, so it’s just lucky that Minghao is also a dancer. It helps Mingyu to forget the guy is his personal hell on legs, pulling off several agonizingly annoying things every day before breakfast. It evens everything out.

He walks into the practice room with a water bottle and the beat deafens him, and Minghao is stuck in relentless, unforgiving motion, shooting into a form and then stopping when the beat demands him to. He jumps and his legs are like springs, and they take him higher, higher, and higher. He comes down and he sweeps down, down, and down and he keeps on _moving_ —it’s _disorientating_ and it’s swift and it gives Mingyu whiplash.

Minghao ends with a powerful stomp where he slides his foot to the side when the music dies, and his shoulders move as he is heaving for air, the back of his neck shiny with sweat and the back of his shirt sticking to his skin.

Mingyu’s breath is caught up somewhere deep inside his chest when he looks at him, and meets Minghao’s intense stare through the mirror.

Then it’s all gone, Minghao’s shoulders slump and when he turns to look at Mingyu he doesn’t smile, but his eyes light up at the sight of him. When he walks closer, Mingyu picks up the bottle of water next to him on the floor and gives it to him, staring at the sweat gathered on Minghao’s neck, upper lip, tip of his nose. When he drinks, his throat moves in a way that makes Mingyu’s gut spark up and mouth run dry, so he asks for the bottle back and drinks some, too.

Minghao sits down right in front of him, their legs getting tangled up. Mingyu swallows before leaning forward to reach out and swipe away the sweat on Minghao’s brow with his thumb, and Minghao stares at the floor like he’s scared of looking at him and inhales sharply. Mingyu also brushes away all the hair gathered on Minghao’s forehead, and it looks refreshing, seeing his forehead. Minghao leans into the touch.

“Now your hand is sweaty,” Minghao says, his voice is breathless and it could be from the dance practice, but Mingyu wants to believe it might be because of him touching his face, petting his hair. “I like seeing you,” Mingyu admits.

Minghao snorts and looks away again while smiling, his cheeks look healthy with colour. His hands grab at Mingyu’s legs and yank him forward so they’re closer, Mingyu letting out a quiet laugh and going with it, moving and settling until he’s seated on Minghao’s lap. It makes Mingyu feel a bit conscious about his weight but Minghao doesn’t seem to mind, now smiling up at him a bit.

“You’re lucky you like dancers, since there are so many around,” Minghao says with his voice wavering a bit, and gaze dropping to linger at Mingyu’s throat. Minghao’s tongue peeks from between his lips to wet them. Mingyu shakes his head.

“I—No, it’s you.” Mingyu’s hands settle on Minghao’s hips. “I like seeing you, because you don’t think of the audience.” He ducks his head down a bit to catch Minghao’s eyes that are still staring weirdly at his neck. Mingyu’s whole face feels like it’s going to melt off, it’s uncomfortable and feels a lot like he’s running a fever, with his whole body aching at the slightest touch. “You dance like there’s no one else in the room.”

Minghao looks up at him and it looks like he’s trying to figure out if he’s just misunderstanding, so Mingyu gives a small nod, and it makes the guy break into an embarrassed smile and shove at his side. But the smile is radiant and happy, and it makes Mingyu lean down to kiss him. Minghao lets out a muffled sound into his mouth, hand pressing against his chest but not pushing, as Mingyu moves his lips a bit too enthusiastically, but Minghao responds almost the same way, sucking Mingyu’s lower lip into his mouth.

It’s clean, and it’s slow and calm, and it’s so good Mingyu can’t really understand it.

 

* * *

 

 

The second time they meet in a bathroom, Mingyu grabs on to Minghao’s hips in a lonely restaurant washroom and he coos, “ _I love you, Myungho-ya_ ,” wet against his cheek, and Minghao tells him his breath reeks of alcohol, Mingyu is the one who sinks to his knees and pushes Minghao against a wall. “You’re really loveable,” he says because apparently he can’t stop his mouth from running anymore, and Minghao smiles at him, all sorts of embarrassed and excited.

His belt is the most complicated one he has _ever_ encountered but Mingyu works it open, gets Minghao’s pants down to his thighs, and feels Minghao stiffen and shiver as Mingyu presses his open mouth against the front of his underwear.

The way Minghao is shaking under his touch makes it feel like he’s shifting in and out of existence, molecules vibrating and atoms buzzing and his very being just migrating away from this realm, so Mingyu lands his palms on his hips—stupid, bony, too-narrow hips—to hold him there. The underwear comes off and Minghao’s dick is right there in front of his eyes, and Mingyu doesn’t know what to say so he just slurs out, “Hello.”

Minghao laughs like he’s dying a little, deep inside, and Mingyu smiles too and starts laughing against Minghao’s thigh. “Did you just _greet_ my genitalia, Kim Mingyu?”

“Just being polite, man,” he says before licking his lips and kissing the head tentatively. Minghao’s hips jerk slightly so Mingyu grabs onto his thighs instead and presses them firmly against the wall and opens his mouth wide so he can suck the cock into his mouth, making Minghao groan.

The taste is nothing like Mingyu thought it would be, but it’s isn’t really that good either. Mingyu wouldn’t say he likes it; it’s too… earthy, too vividly salty, and it tastes like skin and it makes him gag a bit. Living flesh on his tongue, Minghao just sobbing out his name and fucking into the ring of his lips with such desperation, everything gets to be too much, but Mingyu can’t stop. He doesn’t want to.

When Minghao comes, it’s with a violent tremor shaking his whole being, and Mingyu tries to swallow but it’s the absolute _grossest_ thing he has ever attempted, spunk getting caught sticky in his throat and teeth and bursting everywhere from his mouth when he opens up his lips to breathe. Minghao still pets his hair and tells him it’s okay, that it felt amazing, and that’s all it takes for Mingyu to stay alive.

He’s too drunk to process anything, so he ends up crying, his tears creating a huge stain on Minghao’s pant leg. Minghao shoves him off just to fix his clothing, and sinks to the floor to hold him through it, laughing softly and quietly.

“You’re a mess, Mingyu-ya.” Mingyu sniffles and presses his face into Minghao’s shoulder, and the tears just burst from his eyes. He wails and whimpers _I know, I know_ so many times he can’t count, bathing in the feeling of Minghao kissing away his snot and tears.

“I love you, too. You’re a lot more loveable than I am.”

The words make his chest swell so painfully that he chokes on tears and ends up coughing wildly, and he can’t hear the door to the bathroom open up and someone walking in. He does pipe down eventually, enough to catch Wonwoo’s voice saying, “Oh, Christ,” somewhere above them, and Minghao calmly laying out a ridiculous excuse to bust them out.

“He misses his dog _this_ much?” Junhui questions and frowns while leaning on the stall wall, but Seungcheol nods solemnly and pets Mingyu’s hair and helps him up.

“I get it, kid. I get it.”

The next morning Mingyu has a killer hangover, only worsened by his text message inbox flooding with pictures of Mara from his sister with a “ _heard that you miss her, she misses oppa too!!”,_ and he tries to suffocate Xu Minghao with a pillow for it.

Minghao fights it off and laughs, sleepy but amused and so gleeful, and Mingyu gives him a long cold stare before croaking, “I hate you.”

Minghao shakes his head and smiles with his lower lip caught between his lips. “You love me.” Mingyu hates his tone, the way he says it, that he’s so sure of it. That he trusts that Mingyu meant it. Mingyu also hates that he himself thinks he did, in fact, mean it.

He skims through the pictures his sister sent him and Minghao edges closer, slips into his bed to lie next to Mingyu. “He’s handsome.”

“She’s a _lady_.” Mingyu tries to sound offended but just sounds sleepy and tired, and his stomach rumbles with hunger.

“Mara is a cute name, too.” Minghao zooms in a picture and moves it around, looking at the surroundings, not just the dog. He has never seen Mingyu’s house before.

“It’s just a nickname though,” Mingyu shrugs and yawns, and starts to type a reply to the messages. He then makes one of the pics his lockscreen, smiling to himself.

Minghao frowns in confusion but settles on his side, rests his cheek on Mingyu’s shoulder. “What’s her name then?”

“Diego Maradona.”

After a minute of silence Mingyu turns his head and finds Minghao staring at him like he’s honestly given up on life. His face is strained in disbelief, and when Mingyu raises his brows in question, he sighs.

“What? Maradona is a great player. I used to play soccer.”

“I can’t believe you have a girl dog called Diego Maradona, and I sucked your dick.”

“You’re called The8, and I still sucked _your_ dick.”

Minghao aims to punch him in the face but instead hits his fist to the headboard, making Mingyu fall from the bed while laughing. Minghao strains a deeply aggressive “I hate it when you assholes pull that one on me,” and leaves to apply something cold to his hurting knuckles.

“Lucky forever, bruh,” Mingyu calls after him from the floor, so Minghao comes back and slams the door shut behind him just out of spite.

 

* * *

 

 

“Did you get them?” Mingyu shoots up from the bed and looks over to Minghao who enters the empty room, and he does have a small bag with him and a flush around his cheeks. He nods jerkily, ridiculously excited as he kicks off his sneakers and clambers deeper into the room.

They both sit down on the floor with their legs tucked neatly under themselves, and Minghao dumps the contents of the bag on the floor between them. Not one, but two bottles of lube, and not one, but two packs of Okamotos. Mingyu stares at them, his eyes wide, and when he looks up in question at Minghao, the guy goes full on defense-mode.

“I panicked, okay? Don’t look at me like that,” Minghao barks at him sharply. “It’s good to be prepared, right?”

“What if we don’t like it? What the fuck are we going to do with all of”—Mingyu gestures wildly at the lube and condoms—“ _this_?”

Minghao shrugs and considers it. “Let’s just like it, then.”

Mingyu hates the cocky smile Minghao has, how he really gets a kick out of this, doing scary and weird and dumb things. How Mingyu gets some kicks out of it too. They move them over to the nightstand, and sit on either side of the mattress they fixed on the floor.

“So, how should we do it?” Minghao asks as he just pushes down his joggers and kicks them off, then sits down to the mattress in just his underwear and shirt. “Should we flip a coin? Decide who’s being the tail?”

Mingyu laughs, but Minghao seems serious, so he sobers up and crosses his arms. “Seriously?” He answers Minghao’s questioning flail of hands with a quirked brow. “There’s no need. You’re the tail.”

Minghao narrows his eyes and crosses his legs. “Why the fuck should I be the tail? I could be heads.”

“I’m taller.”

Minghao answers with some more confused silence.

“In the videos, it’s always the taller guy doing the shorter one. Just common sense, dude. You shouldn’t fight logic.”

A moment passes by, but then Minghao just out his lip and raises his brows and says, “…That’s true, ain’t it,” and they settle for that, but stay there, untouching.

They rust in place and it would be funny if it wouldn’t be so uncomfortable and uncalled for.

“Why is it this _awkward_?” Minghao finally asks, rubbing an itchy patch on his arm with a distressed face.

Mingyu laughs weakly and stares at Minghao’s bare legs, thighs, the skin of his ankles. He wants to touch them, sneak his fingers to the border where his boxers end. He wants to slide them up under the fabric.

It’s a sudden and painful realization that he can actually do that, that he probably should, and that he is going to.

“Should… we really do this now, or leave it for later?” Minghao’s voice is so careful and small it gets Mingyu’s head spinning, and he can finally see the uncertainty swimming across Minghao’s being. Mingyu crawls forward while shaking his head furiously and yanks Minghao closer by his legs, fingers sinking into the flesh. Minghao is close enough that Mingyu needs to go cross-eyed to stare at his face, his round nose and nicely shaped eyes. He kisses both, the tip of his nose and both eyelids.  
  
“Can you lie down?” Mingyu asks, then kisses Minghao on the mouth before he can answer, but gets a shaky nod after he’s done. He falls on his back, looking up with a silly smile when Mingyu grabs his knees and pulls them apart so he can settle between Minghao’s legs. He runs his fingers across the smooth surface of his skin, up his boxers, fingertips meeting up with the coarse texture of his pubic hair.

They both take a deep breath and hold it like going underwater when the rest of their clothes come off. Mingyu’s face feels so hot, like his blood is boiling underneath and his cheeks could just peel off, and Minghao can’t meet his eyes.

“When I said I didn’t care about seeing you naked,” Minghao whispers, his voice strained and eyes weirdly glossed over. “I lied. I totally lied. Oh my god. You should be naked all the time.”

Mingyu grins widely, making Minghao whine and kick at his side, and his voice spikes up into a loud whimper that echoes from the walls when Mingyu’s lips wrap around him and edges down slowly. One of Minghao’s ridiculously huge hands plants itself in Mingyu’s hair, pulling and tugging and petting as Mingyu uses his tongue to tease him into hardness, and he just won’t _shut up_ , mouth wide and strained grunts and groans coming out of it.

“Does that feel good?” Mingyu asks him as he pulls of with a wet pop, his mouth feeling freakishly full with spit and precome. He doesn’t get a reply, just an impatient nudge to his head to keep going. “Use your words; you’re not a baby.”  
  
“I don’t _have_ any words.” Minghao props himself up on his elbows and he looks like he’s ready to start begging, and Mingyu grows so hard he’s going to start leaking to the mattress. Mingyu strokes him with a hand instead until Minghao’s hard and fat and hot in his palm, and then reaches for the lube.

Minghao’s face trembles with passing emotions, he seems like he’s scared enough to call his mom to come and pick him up, but also excited. It’s sort of exhausting to look at. Mingyu slicks up a finger while Minghao spreads his legs and turns his face away.

“I’ll, uh. I’ll put my finger up your ass now, I guess.” Minghao whimpers and screws his eyes shut, hands fisting the sheets, making Mingyu shush him and run a hand across his stomach to calm him a bit, make him relax.

He pushes in the tip of his middle finger without much preamble, and it makes Minghao’s back arch and every muscle tense up simultaneously as he hisses in surprise. “Okay. _Okay_ ,” is all he says, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling.  
  
“Is it bad?”

Minghao considers for a while, his face rippling in concentration as Mingyu keeps on pushing it deeper, breathing turning heavy and arduous. “I… This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done,” he finally says with a snort, but after laughing he winces. “Ouch.”

Mingyu looks on as his finger sinks into him, breathless. “Are you scared?” Minghao shakes his head. “Good. I’m fucking _terrified_.” Minghao laughs again, loud and obnoxious, but apparently that hurts, too, so it just dies out.

Gradually Minghao relaxes, and it gets easier for Mingyu to move his finger, to feel the surreal heat of his inner walls against his skin. “Can I, uh, add one? Do you think you’re okay for that?” Mingyu asks as he pulls out, making Minghao’s breath hitch. Mingyu settles on his heels and looks over the body sprawled in front of him, and he lets out a slight whine at the sight.

Minghao probably doesn’t know it but he’s really hot like this, so open, so good. His eyes are watery and have that far-away look in them again, the shade of red spread over the tips of ears and on his cock identical, and his fingers and toes are digging into the mattress when Mingyu pushes in two coated fingers. He whines, loudly, obscenely, and Mingyu’s cock pulses and spurts precome on the sheets, beads of if running down his length making him shiver.

“Do you feel good? You look _amazing_ , I wish you could see yourself,” Mingyu rambles, his voice deep and raspy and hazy and words whatever comes into his mind. It makes Minghao just mewl more, his chest heaving, and Mingyu feels the tension gathering in him, so he goes slower, moves more carefully, so the stretch is gradual. It makes Minghao’s face relax slightly, as he adds in another finger after another.

Finally Minghao is gasping for breath, open-mouthed and needy, his waist lifting up from the mattress to meet Mingyu’s fingers. “Min—fuck, _more_ , please,” he cries out and Mingyu’s brain just shuts down. He grabs the lube and then stops, pulls out his fingers so Minghao is left clenching, empty, and it makes him let out a desolate sob.

Mingyu licks his lips and leans over him, so they are face to face. “Are you ready?”

Minghao blinks away his heavy daze, then nods jerkily. “Yeah. Yes. I don’t know. No.” He brings up his hands into Mingyu’s hair, pushes it away and gauges his expression. “I’ll find out.” Mingyu smiles dumbly and kisses him, long and slow, drags it out before he fetches a condom.

Mingyu’s pulse picks up and races inside his skull as he carefully opens up a condom with his dull fingernails, failing multiple times. “Just use your mouth, this is sad to look at,” Minghao barks, but Mingyu throws him a look of disagreement.

“They said in sex ed never to use teeth, it might break the rubber.” Minghao rolls his eyes but smiles when Mingyu sounds a cheer when he finally gets the wrapper open. He rolls on the condom, and okay, this is his first time wearing one. It feels foreign, cool against his skin. The lube is cold, too, and Mingyu wonders if he should’ve warmed up for Minghao, can’t help his mind racing and thinking if it was uncomfortable, gross, if this is a _horrible_ idea and he could still back out.

“Mingyu.”

His head shoots up at the mention of his name, and Minghao is sitting up and staring him down. “Are you losing your shit?” He doesn’t seem convinced when Mingyu just shakes his head. “You’re not allowed to freak out when I’m the one with an ass full of lubricant.”

Mingyu scoffs and shoves at his chest, making Minghao fall down on his back with a high pitched giggle, and when he lines up his dick into the dip of Minghao’s entrance, between his cheeks, they share a look. Minghao grabs at one of Mingyu’s hands tightly, then drops it to bunch up the bedsheets in his hands, white-knuckled with anticipation, or fear maybe, and turns to stare at the ceiling.

When Mingyu pushes in, it’s easy to see it hurts, it’s easy to see it’s more than just uncomfortable, but Mingyu is seeing _sparks_ . The heat is amazing and so intense it makes him moan, high pitched and shaky, needy, it’s _obscene_ . He’s so _tight,_ Mingyu needs to grab onto Minghao’s thighs and brace himself by leaning his forehead on Minghao’s knee, needs to just breathe evenly so he won’t spill immediately. He needs more of this, he can’t come yet.

Mingyu’s all the way inside, catching his breath, and when he opens his eyes, Minghao’s staring at the ceiling like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. His fingers are digging into the mattress, chest heaving from the intensity of his breathing, and with every exhale he lets out a tiny whimper. Trying to help him through it, Mingyu strokes his cock, teases the underside, the slit, whispers encouragements against the skin of Minghao’s thigh. What he gets in return is a broken sob, a sniffle, and an order to _“Move.”_

“Are you _crying_?” Mingyu groans out when he finally starts moving, pulling out all the way to the tip and burying his dick into Minghao’s ass again and again. Minghao’s eyelashes are getting clumped up by tears, more and more with every slam of Mingyu’s hips against his bare ass.

“It’s,” Minghao sobs, finally tearing his eyes away from the ceiling and looking at Mingyu instead, “I’m just, it’s—so _full_ ,” he manages, and Mingyu doesn’t know if it’s alarming how much it turns him on, to see him crying, to see him this raw.

It’s a flurry and a mess when Mingyu picks up the pace and fucks Minghao like that, on the edge of rough and uncomfortable and Minghao still sobbing a bit but crying for him to go on, to go faster, to not stop, lifting his hips up so the angle is smoother. Minghao’s hands grab at his arms, his hair, his face, run up his chest, and he’s whispering out words that sound empty and weird, encouragements, comforting words that only stop for a second when he comes in Mingyu’s palm, shivering under him, around him, clenching and tightening and driving him over the edge.

“You’re so _cute,_ ” Minghao coos warmly and cracks a smile for the first time during the whole thing when Mingyu finally comes with a pornographic moan that’s more like an awkward _scream_ with how loud it is. His hips jerk erratically, trying to ride it out and milk out whatever he can, the shakes and shivers, then stop when the stimulation gets to be too much.

Mingyu is hovering over him, sweat forming on his face and probably dripping down on Minghao’s brow, but Minghao still coaxes him down for a sloppy kiss.

“Was it good?” Minghao asks him, and Mingyu laughs, erratic and thrilled and bubbly, smiling like an idiot and can only nod furiously. If he can have this, he’s probably _never_ going to settle for masturbating again.

“You?”  
  
Minghao shakes his head, but then stops to think. “I came. But my ass hurts _. I cried,”_ he states, embarrassed and breathless, but Mingyu smiles wider and wipes away the sheer tear trails from his cheeks. Mingyu leans in to kiss both corners of his eyes, buries his nose into Minghao’s hair, breathes him in, holds him so close it’s sort of cramped and suffocating, but Minghao aligns himself against him and blows a raspberry on Mingyu’s shoulder.

“You look hot when you cry.” Minghao scoffs against the column of Mingyu’s throat, but doesn’t have the strength to do much else.

“Only you, Kim Mingyu, would say that and mean it.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you really think you love me?” Minghao asks him so nonchalantly it makes Mingyu choke on his spit for a split second, before he swallows the lump on his throat and wracks his head for a concrete thought process about what Minghao just said. He doesn’t seem too anxious about the answer, looking at his homework materials that are printed in dull, dark, fine print.

“Yeah,” he blurts out anyway, readjusting his legs on the hotel bed where they’re tangled with Minghao’s own. Minghao looks over, seemingly not impressed.

“Have you been in love before?”

Mingyu can’t say that he has, so he ends up huffing, “I love a lot of things.”

“No, you get _attached_ to a lot of things. The kind of love you have for Diego Maradona and your friends isn’t what I’m talking about.”

Mingyu’s chest boils with frustration, but he breathes it all out, slumping against the pillows and mumbling out, “I guess not, then. But you’re my first in a lot of things.”

This time it’s Minghao who’s face tenses in frustration as he pushes away the papers and books. He sits there in silence for the longest time, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t just want to be your first time, though,” Minghao says, voice barely above a whisper. He worries a loose thread on the duvet and frowns.

Mingyu can’t keep the sly smile from his face, voice dripping honey. “Do you want to be my… _everytime_?”

Minghao breaks into a smile too though he tries to keep it down, his cheeks and nose scrunching up and eyes gaining a glimmer of amusement. Mingyu tackles him on the bed and Minghao erupts into wild laughter, they rolls around on the narrow bed until Minghao’s above him, holding Mingyu’s face in his hands.

“I don’t know, okay?” Mingyu finally says, his brows knitting together, and Minghao just gauges his expression, searches his face. “I don’t know if I’m in love with you, because of obvious reasons. I just hope I am, because know that I’d be miserable if I wasn’t.”

Dipping the pads of his thumbs into the corners of Mingyu’s eyes, down to his cheeks, Minghao’s expression trembles from frustration to something that resembles satisfaction, and he whispers, “That makes no sense.”

Mingyu fills his cheeks with air so Minghao can pop them, dig his fingers in and make the air whistle out and smiles big, wide and bright like after. His chest feels full, gross and warm and gooey. “But you’ll take it, right?”

Minghao leans down to plant a short kiss to Mingyu’s lips, then another one, and another, until he seems satisfied and gets off. “Don’t I always?”

Once they come up from dinner and step into the hotel elevator, Mingyu props his chin on Minghao’s head and pulls his back against his chest. He doesn’t resist or make a fuss, which is awfully kind of him, or then he’s just exhausted. Mingyu is, too. “Do you think you love me?” Mingyu asks, pressing his nose into Minghao’s hair, just because he’s feeling shameless. Just because he can.

“Me?” Mingyu hums and nods. “I know so.” That catches Mingyu by surprise, and he meets Minghao’s eyes through the mirrored wall. He seems determined, looks sure, so steady it makes Mingyu frown.

“…Though you haven’t been in love before?”

“Yeah.”

The elevator rings a vivid and sharp _ding_ , and the doors slide open, but they stay there for a while.

“How can you know?” Mingyu asks him as Minghao turns and starts walking down the hallway, dragging him along. Minghao thinks on it a second, brows knitting together in thought even when Mingyu punches their keycard into the reader and they stumble into the room.

Minghao heads lazily to their window and rolls it up as far as it goes. He sits on the floor by it, and Mingyu joins him, and they both sigh simultaneously as the cool breeze combs through their hair.

“I can’t know, you know. I don’t know shit about love. It’s just…” Minghao says after a while, rubbing his bare feet together by the ankles. His eyes jump up from the floor to search Mingyu’s face and then to gaze out from the window. “If this isn’t it? I guess I’ll just be disappointed.”

It’s hard to keep in the cluster of emotions, including second-hand embarrassment, that are just violently piling up inside Mingyu’s gut, his chest, his throat, his mouth, and he feels a bit like yelling, he’s so _full_ , but instead he lets out a peal of laughter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Minghao looks like he might be full too, filled to the brim. “I like it like this, even without the slow-dancing and flowers.”

Mingyu scoffs, half-hearted and weak, and says, “Good. I’m never doing slow-dancing or flowers.” Minghao grins, all teeth and round cheeks, and leans his head against the windowsill.

“I took you for a romantic, you know,” Minghao says as his hand sneaks up Mingyu’s arm, coming up to pinch his ear, cheek, nose, then his lips, “the kind to hold a radio over your head under my window, to hide a ring into a cheesecake. But that’s not you.”

Mingyu stretches his mouth into a lazy smile, and tries to bite Minghao’s fingers, making him yank away his hand and laugh. When he’s sure none of his digits are getting bitten off, Minghao yanks Mingyu down by the neck to kiss him, hunched low enough that they can’t be seen from the window.

“But you get me,” Mingyu finally says, his lips tingling.

Minghao props his chin on the windowsill and lets his eyes slip closed. Mingyu wonders for a second if he has fallen asleep, but then he agrees with a drawn out and exhausted, “But I get you,” and settles his legs on Mingyu’s lap.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy mingyu day i guess
> 
> I started this before xmas, abandoned it, picked it up a couple weeks back, rewrote the whole thing, and here we are. when i was young they called it 2ming, the ship that has taken over my life, it is these two, and i am a mess. 
> 
> beta'd by coupsd, thank you so much for it all !!  
> (i haven't abandoned my other fics. well i have, but only practically. i will get back to them. its time to return to the dungeon)


End file.
